Page 17 of Love and Lattes at Pumpkin Hollow
I reached down to pat Maple. She had taken to Dylan more than I thought she would, and for a city boy, he seemed happy to be around her. ‘I hope I’m doing the right thing,’ I said, watching Dylan taking off his jacket and starting up the mower.
‘I hope so too, love,’ Dad replied.
‘I ache in places I didn’t even know I had,’ Dylan declared when he opened the door to me. He’d insisted I come to the cottage to work on the spreadsheet as he had a much better laptop than the old computer we had in the farmhouse. Dad had made dinner for the three of us. Dylan protested that he didn’t need to be included in our meals but Dad said he’d been doing free labour all day so the least we could do was feed him, and he was glad of the male company. I rolled my eyes but I could see Dad enjoyed cooking for us and having Dylan to chat to while we ate. Dylan was better company than I would have thought when he wasn’t talking business, which Dad kept steering him away from, and me if I mentioned the pumpkin patch. He seemed to want the dinner table to be neutral so we both gave in and ended up having a nice time talking about all sorts of things from sport to films to the travelling Dylan had done when he was younger.
But now as we walked into the cottage, it was back to business. We’d left Dad watching a film in his armchair with Maple on his feet keeping an eye on things as she always did. I carried a bottle of wine and two glasses into the cottage as it felt like it would be needed if I was going to spend an evening with figures. Not my strong point, I had to admit. I would much rather be outside fixing a fence. Dylan, of course, was in his element and brought his laptop, phone and a notebook to the round, pine table in the open-plan kitchen/living area. I spotted an old candle on the side and lit it, the delicious smell of pumpkin spice taking over the room quickly. This was surprisingly cosy.
‘I’m impressed you almost cleared all the grass,’ I told him as he sat down, wincing as he did so. ‘Maybe you should have a bath to help the aches,’ I added, then my cheeks flushed involuntarily. I sat down too and quickly poured us both some wine to avoid catching his eye. ‘I think we can get it all cleared by tomorrow; you really have saved me so much work.’
‘I kind of enjoyed it – being outside, just thinking about the task in hand. It meant I wasn’t worrying about anything else,’ he said, opening up his laptop.
I nodded. ‘That’s how I feel. I’ve always loved that about doing this job. It’s bloody hard work but it’s so rewarding.’
‘I can see that now. Beats my office job, I reckon. Okay, here’s a spreadsheet we can use.’
We spent the next hour going over figures and drinking wine. I had to admit that Dylan’s input was invaluable and if I started daydreaming up things for the patch, he pulled me back on track. We couldn’t input costs yet, but with estimates it was tight and was dependent on either charging an entry fee or charging a lot for pumpkins. I needed to think about that, and if I was going to turn a profit, try to get what I needed as cheaply as possible.
‘My brain hurts,’ I declared, leaning back in my chair as the night ticked on. I also felt a little bit tipsy after sharing the bottle of wine with Dylan. ‘I haven’t studied like this since university. You’re a hard taskmaster, Mr Henderson.’
Dylan was taking a sip from his wine as I said that and he spluttered, just managing not to spit it all out. ‘Willow,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘What?’ I questioned, wondering why he looked so shocked. I replayed in my mind what I had said. Then I blushed all over again. ‘Oh.’ I guessed it had come out as a little bit suggestive. I stood up quickly. ‘I better go to bed,’ I said. ‘Alone!’ I added quickly, half-knocking the chair over as I scrambled to jump away from the table and him.
Dylan started laughing then. ‘Tonight made a change from you bossing me around,’ he said with that twinkle back in his eye. That twinkle could be dangerous, I decided.
I backed away further. ‘I’ll send those supplier emails tomorrow and we can finish clearing the field, okay?’ I said, turning away from his eyes.
‘Sleep well,’ he called after me as I hurried out of the cottage, torn between embarrassment and attraction which was bad with a capital B. I couldn’t start feeling attracted to the man who was trying to take my farm away from me.
The cold air hit me once I was outside and wandered back to the farmhouse, taking deep breaths. I sobered up quickly and thankfully, the idea of being attracted to Dylan soon evaporated. I was just lonely and I needed to pull myself together.
The problem was, as I went inside and up to my bed, flashes of Dylan’s eyes as he laughed kept coming back to me.
15
My phone rang early the following morning as I was feeding the chickens and taking a walk around the farm with Maple. Today, the sun had faded into a grey day, an autumnal breeze whipping around me. My dad was in one of the polytunnels checking on crops. We’d had an early breakfast together before the sun came up and then separated to do our chores. I glanced over at the cottage a few times but there was no sign of life. Dylan seemed to still be in bed. I envied him. Our late night and wine had made it tricky for me to get up.
‘Hi, Sabrina,’ I greeted when I answered my phone, walking out of the chicken pen and closing the gate, following Maple as she ran towards the crop fields. ‘What’s up?’
I liked to walk the fields as much as possible as we headed towards winter to look at what had grown and sold well in summer, so then I could decide what to try to grow more or less of, what seeds I needed to order, when I needed to plant things. And I had to keep an eye on when frosts came in, so I could protect some of the crops that weren’t sheltered in the polytunnels. Winter was slower on the farm but still an important time to lay the groundwork for the following summer season. If I could make an event in autumn, I would need to factor that in and so that was on my mind as I strolled around: whether I could fit in the extra work if I was running things on my own.
‘What’s up with me? What’s up with you?’ Sabrina cried down the phone, very excitable for such an early time, shaking me out of my thoughts.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I just dropped in to the café; the baby had a bad night so I thought a walk would help us both, plus I needed a very strong coffee, and I thought a fresh loaf of bread would be nice for some toast for breakfast,’ Sabrina gabbled. I smiled at how she got to her points so long-windedly. ‘I was half-asleep in there but I realised everyone was talking about you. Paul was telling everyone what you said at the pub the night before last about the pumpkin patch, which of course I already knew about, but what was news to me – because my best friend clearly doesn’t think it’s important to tell me things – was that you were on a date with the man who you gave wrong directions to! Which I can’t believe, because he wants to buy your farm! What were you thinking, Willow?’
‘First of all, breathe,’ I instructed, my eyes wide at my friend’s fast talking. I heard her do just that. She was clearly walking back from the High Street to the cottage she shared with her husband, probably pushing the pram. The contrast between our lives was stark. ‘Second of all, yes, we were in the pub together but it wasn’t a date. Dylan is staying at the farm for a few weeks.’
‘Come again?’
‘I know this is going to sound a little bit mad but…’ I told Sabrina about our pumpkin-patch pact.
There was a long silence. ‘But he’s the enemy. Why would you want him living there? Won’t he just sabotage the patch so you have to sell? Why has your dad let a strange man live with you both?’
I paused and looked over at the cottages. Dylan was emerging from his and with purpose in his step, he headed straight for the field we were clearing. It was weird; Sabrina was right. ‘I maybe jumped in like I often do, and it was kind of too late for my dad to stop me; you know what I’m like when I’m faced with a challenge…’
‘You are determined to succeed. It’s what I love about you. Along with your big dreams. But you can’t trust this man, surely? And why has he agreed to it? I’m confused and worried.’
